


Stiff Competition

by MsLanna



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Eurovision Songcontest AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:20:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLanna/pseuds/MsLanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wanted a Eurovision AU with Lensherr in leather. Here it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiff Competition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarRose/gifts).



Charles looked over to Lensherr representing Germany. He did not only look as aggressive as his hard rock song had been, dressed all in black leather and from what his torso showed probably nothing else.

“Germany twelve points. L'Allemange douze points”, came the announcement.

Lensherr showed his teeth, and an impressive array of them, to Charles. It was likely meant to be a smile. I did look like a threat though he was not sure if it was aiming at his health or inviolacy.

He nodded at the man and tried to catch the eye of somebody else. The redhead who had entered for Ireland, Sean Cassidy, looked at him with a little sheepish grin. Charles gave him an optimistic thumbs up. The ballad of the Irish had been a bit off at times, but beautifully romantic nonetheless. Not that Lensherr would be able to appreciate that.

His eyes were drawn back to the tall man. Maybe it would have been better for everybody, if Lensherr had decided to wear a shirt under his leather jacket. As it was, he showed skin and – well muscles. Charles pulled his gaze away. He had been confident in his song. It was almost upbeat, soft enough to pass for a ballad and he had been assured repeatedly that his voice did it justice. Singing about finding the love of his life was not what Charles would call high art, but the Eurovision Song Contest was a huge event. His manager had assured him a great career. Provided he made it into the top five.

Looking down at his clenched hands, Charles forced a smile and hoped nobody would note how nervous it was. Of course he looked up right at Germany, who grinned like a shark that had smelled blood. Charles smiled tentatively. With one ear her listened to the incoming results. He was doing well, he really was. Until now it had only been twice that he hadn't gotten any points at all. Of course the same was true for Germany.

He glanced over at Lensherr who was answering questions with a grim smile on his lips. Those thin lines looked rather vulnerable to Charles, despite all the aggressive make-up of their owner.

“I intend to win,” the German growled. Charles tried hard to dislike the accent.

“And it looks good so far,” the hostess smiled. “With the UK close on your heels...”

Charles' mind drifted again. He only had to get into the top five. He would have closed his eyes and prayed, but a voice broke into his thoughts.

“He's scary, right?”

Charles looked at Sean Cassidy who clenched his guitar as if it was a shield between him and Lensherr. “Legend has it he grew up in Tannenbusch and moved to Rödelheim for improvement.”

The names meant nothing to Charles, but he realised that it signified moving from worse to bad. “And then?”

“Straight to Berlin after a short run-in with Xavier Naidoo.”

Charles nodded. That name did mean something. But before he could answer any ore questions the hostess in her incredibly pink gown swept up to him. “How does it feel?”, she asked, “being on the heels of Erik Lensherr for the title of this competition?”

“Ah,” Charles tried to avoid the hard gaze of aforementioned Lensherr. “It is a great honour to perform for all of Europe.” He found his smile again. “And though the competition is tough,” he nodded at Lensherr who gave him his toothy smile in return, “I hope to come out somewhere in the top ranks.”

“This is very moderate,” the pink lady replied. “But you are known for that.” She seemed about to add something. Charles kept his smile directed at her. Finally she blushed. “Please direct the power of your blue eyes at somebody else” she suggested. “Though I am sure most women would love to find themselves in my place.”

“Please.” Charles didn't know what else to say.

“You are not only know for your angel-like voice, but also your blue eyes and boyish good looks.” She smiled as if she was imparting a big secret. “It seems amazing that an act as contrasting to Lensherr should be so close in points to him.”

“I think that his aggressive style appeals to the younger audiences while my more conservative contribution-” Charles couldn't finish.

“Pussy song, you mean.” Lensherr was indolently leaning over the back of his seat.

Charles turned to face him and decided it was a mistake as soon as he realised it put his face mere inches from that of Germany. After taking a second to inhale deeply (another mistake taking Lensherr's smell of leather and skin into account) Charles said: “Please, Mr Lensherr, keep our audience in mind.”

“Oh, but I am,” Lensherr murmured too softly for the microphones to pick it up. “It is about midnight and who do you think is watching?”

Charles swallowed as he tried to avoid doing exactly that. “I think-”

“I know,” Lensherr interrupted him again. “Not that it is going to help you.”

“Is it not wonderful,” The hostess tried to save the situation, “how the Song Contest brings the nations together, not only on television, but even here, behind the scenes.”

“Yeah, one big family,” Lensherr confirmed, putting a more than friendly hand on Charles shoulder.

The artist from the UK thought that anything more familiar would probably turn into incest very fast. Unfortunately, he was uncertain about whether he would mind or not.

“Ten points from Portugal, dix point des Portugal”, came announcement.

Charles smiled.

“You are catching up.” The pink hostess got up to chatter about the excting head-to-head chase in detail to the cameras. Thus she missed Germany digging his fingers into the shoulders of UK hard.

“I will have you in pieces, if you cost me my victory, Xavier,” Lensherr growled.

“O-okay?” Charles didn't know how to reply.

“Looking forward to it?” Lensherr seemed to consider the possibility.

Charles was about to say something scathing, though he wasn't quite sure what exactly, when something else caught his attention. Indeed, the ten and twelve points tended to go to him and Lensherr, but almost unnoticed a steady influx of points kept Cassidy right in their wake. The young Irish singer was very consistent in skimming seven and eight points. He was actually about to overtake them both. Charles giggled.

“What's so funny, UK?” Lensherr rumbled.

“I think,” Charles said, uncomfortably conscious of Lensherr's breath on his cheek. “I think, we're both gain to lose.”

“And you think this is going to make me feel better how?”

'I will not care,' Charles told himself and indeed as he turned his lips brushed Germany's cheek. “I don't think I am responsible for making you feel good,” he said in a very restraint tone.

“Maybe you should be.” Lensherr started to turn his face as well and though Charles had a rather vivid idea of how this would end up, he found himself unable to move.

“Maybe.” Charles was too aware of his lips in relation to Lensherr's. They should have been further apart. They certainly shouldn't have been touching. And most certainly, he should not have let out a little sigh and leaned forwards when Lensherr closed the non-existent distance and pressed on.

'I'm live on TV;' Charles tried to call himself to his sense, 'with thousands, millions watching. I really, really should push that aggressive, German, leather-clad Neanderthal with amazing kissing skills away instead of trying to trap his tongue somewhere between my uvula and submandibular glands.' It did take some time, but in the end, Charles managed. To his dismay, nobody had really noticed the incident as everybody was busy celebrating Cassidy's victory.

“Are you going to have him now?”, he asked Lensherr carelessly.

“You wish,” was the only answer he got before Lensherr returned to kissing him firmly.

“There's still cameras about,” Charles got out.

“Afraid for your reputation, sunny boy?” There was a leer hidden not so deeply in Lensherr's eyes.

”I am a private person,” Charles tried to reply with as much dignity as he had left. “And as such I do not engage in – uh, this kind of activity in public.” For a second he considered kicking, or just grabbing, Lensherr's crotch heartily.

“Why don't we find somewhat private then?” Lensherr had mastered the art of raising an eyebrow.

In return, Charles had mastered the art of not showing half a hard on. And that had very little to do with Cassidy pelting out his ballade again, slightly off tone as ever.

“If a tryst in the stalls is all you're up to, let's just get it over with.” Charles had to grin up at Lensherr. And he kept grinning despite all the emotions he saw flickering over the face of the singer representing Germany.

“Aren't you a daring one.” Lensherr looked almost thoughtful.

“Are you going to find out?” Charles couldn't keep the grin out of his tone.

“I am.” Taking his chin between his thumb and index finger and turning it this side and that a bit, Lensherr seemed positive that he would get out on top of this.

'You just wait.' Charles thought as he slipped the tall man his room number. 'You just wait.'


End file.
